


little bit of truth

by fullmctal



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dom Zayn, Drunkenness, Future Hate Sex, M/M, Pining, Sub Harry, long haired harry bc i feel like it, long haired!harry, more to be added heh, which turns to love sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 07:48:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12054519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullmctal/pseuds/fullmctal
Summary: Harry Styles knows one thing for sure: he very much dislikes his new roommate, Zayn Malik. Very much indeed.roommate au.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> heeey everyone! SO, this is a re-post of a story that i had on tumblr a looong time ago. it was originally louis/zayn but as my preferences for ships have changed, i rewrote it as zayn/harry. so just in case you recognize it, that's why. i found it on my laptop and read it for the first time in awhile and found myself actually liking the story so decided to post it. hope you enjoy! there's a couple more chapters i've already written that i'll be adding soon.

Zayn Malik is promiscuous.

At least, that’s the first thing that Harry notices on the night that he meets the young man. They are meeting for the first time at a club; and of course, it probably hadn’t been the best idea, but Liam had just _insisted_ upon them both meeting as soon as possible. So Harry had let himself be dragged out to meet their new roommate, the new roommate who was already getting on Harry’s nerves, and he’d only known him for an hour, tops. 

Great.

Emerald hues watch as the dark-haired lad slides against a tiny blonde girl on the dance floor, and the new roommate is already licking his way into her mouth, hand pressed at the small of her back as they sloppily kiss, hips moving against her and he looks like he wants to devour her mouth.

And all Harry can think as he watches with a roll of his eyes is, _How tacky._

A sigh escapes his lips as he perches his drink between his fingertips, head lolling slightly to the side as his gaze travels away from the dance floor. He just wants to go home, really. He wants to go home and curl up on the couch and grab a bunch of blankets and get all warm and comfy and drink some tea and cuddle with he and Liam’s pet cat and watch something really, really stupid on the telly.

To Harry Styles, that sounds like the perfect night.

Instead, here he is. Sipping on god-knows-what while his best mate and their new roommate get trashed, dance like fools and will probably end up bringing back girls to the apartment.

_Fun._

“Try not to look so cheery, yeah?” Their friend Niall is suddenly up beside him, and he bumps Harry's shoulder with his own, an amused expression spreading across his features as he downs the rest of his own drink in one go.

Harry gives him a look. 

“C’mon Haz, dance with someone!” Niall grins cheekily, bumping their shoulders again and doing a little goofy movement with his arms, which Harry guesses is supposed to look like some sort of dance move, but really Niall just looks like a flopping fish.

Harry gives him another look.

Because, he really just wants to be home. And curled up on the couch, with his blankets and his tea and comfy clothes.

Instead, he’s at a club. Wearing the tightest jeans that he owns and a tight little white v-neck and sometimes he feels eyes on him and it’s uncomfortable and he feels utterly ridiculous.

“Hey there.” The voice sounds deep, and Harry feels the hand on his arm before he sees the person. He turns his head, eyes raise and meet the man’s own, and he can’t help but give a little involuntary sigh. It’s the men, always the men that hit on him in places like this. 

Why is it always the men?

And Niall is laughing beside him, Harry can feel it; the slight shaking of his body as his friend is giggling into his newly-refreshed drink, and Harry sort of wants to hit him, not in a mean way but just in a you’re-being-annoying-why-are-you-laughing sort of way.

“A pretty little thing like you should be out on the dance floor,” the man continues, and Harry’s brow furrows as he takes in the sight of him; the guy has gotta be at least forty, and is definitely creepy, and the sad thing is that Harry is sort of used to this. He’s used to be hitting hit on by creepy older men, who like to come up behind him and cop a feel of his bum sometimes, or whisper in his ear the dirty things they’d like to do to him, and it’s all disgusting, really. And now, this man’s got a look on his face that Harry doesn’t particularly like, and he is standing much too close for Harry’s comfort. _Much too close._

He feels Niall laughing some more beside him, and Harry purses his lips as fingers curl around his glass more tightly, and he gives another sigh. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he says, not really to anyone in particular, because really he just wants to get out of there – and so he does, shaking the older man off and starting to make his way to the bathroom, leaving Niall to his own laughter.

~

Later, he’s curled up on the couch with only one blanket and two hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea.

He really, really, really wants more blankets, but is much too tired and lazy to get up and retrieve them. So instead, Harry presses the palms of his hands into the warmth of the mug, spreads his fingertips across it because it feels nice, and then he hears it.

_Moaning._

Harry freezes slightly, legs tucked up beneath him and he feels a pang of annoyance in his chest. He knows it’s the new guy; knows that because as he turns his head slightly, he can hear that direction in which the noises are coming from, and it’s definitely not from Liam’s room. Liam didn’t even bring anyone back, anyway; just simply stumbled drunkenly back into his room with the help of Harry, because Liam doesn’t even get drunk all that often and when he does, all he wants to do is sleep. So Harry let him sag against the side of his body, wrapping an arm around his friend’s waist the best that he could as he helped him back into his room, helped pull back the sheets for him and helped him slip between them. He’d smiled softly when Liam had grinned sloppily at him with sleepy eyes, telling him that he was the best, that he loved him and that he was going to _try and sleep now._

So, no. Those moans were definitely not coming from Liam’s room. They were coming from the room of the young man who had just moved in less than eight hours ago.

Harry’s eyes narrow into little slivers of green, trying his best to ignore the sounds as he lowers his mouth down to the edge of the mug, breathing in the hot steam of it before he feels a slight dip in the couch beside where his feet are tucked up. KitKat rubs his head against the ball of Harry’s socked foot, and Harry can’t help but grin because it’s awfully endearing and he really wants some cuddles right now. He lowers one of his hands to scoop the cat up, pressing his face into the fur at the nape of the cat’s neck as KitKat meows against him. 

“KitKat. Those noises are freaking me out,” he murmurs into the fur, holding the cat up as if trying to hide his face. And Harry doesn’t know why he’s talking to the cat, really, but he does it sort of often and it’s sort of comforting. And he knows that they probably shouldn’t have named him KitKat, but at the time the two of them had just moved in and Harry had been all “we need to think of a name”, and Liam had been eating a KitKat at the time and ever since then it had just sort of stuck.

Then a door opens.

He hears it, first, and sort of freezes against KitKat’s fur, before Harry promptly straightens up and turns to crane his neck, to see where it is – and sure enough, a small blonde girl comes out from down the hallway – bare feet padding against wood floor as she hangs her head, and Harry can’t help but think _is this what a walk of shame looks like? But those are usually in the morning, right?_ as he watches her stride up to the door of their flat, holding black heels in her left hand and she quietly slips out the door, not even having realized that Harry is sitting on the couch with a cat in his lap. 

It seems that KitKat had been watching as well, because Harry realizes both he and the cat are looking at the door as it shuts softly behind her.

Harry leans forward then, setting his mug of tea on the coffee table, but KitKat doesn’t like this, and makes an annoyed noise before rubbing up against Harry's arm, and then he hears it again.

A light flicks on in the kitchen, the brightness pouring out into the living room as well because they’re joined together, and Harry’s eyes become narrow slits once more as he turns to see him standing in the kitchen. Him, his new roommate, the one who’s already begun pissing him off in a way that Harry can’t quite even explain; and Harry shifts a bit on the couch, watching him. 

Zayn is shirtless; he’s tan. He’s fit, that’s for sure – all lean muscle and dark eyes, but that’s beside the point. His hair is mussed in such a way that only _suggests_ that act that he’s just performed, and he’s clad in nothing but plaid boxers. Harry scoffs at him from across the room as Zayn pulls open the fridge, crossing his feet at the ankle as he leans back to scour the shelves with his eyes.

“Looking for something in particular?” Harry lets him know how annoyed he is by the tone of his voice – doesn’t really care about this male’s opinion of him, knows exactly what he sounds like as he asks the question. 

Zayn’s body tenses a bit in surprise, and he turns to look over his shoulder at where Harrt is perched on the couch, eyes widening slightly and it’s all that Harry can do not to _laugh._

“Didn’t see you there,” Zayn offers with a blank expression, before promptly shutting the door of the fridge. He turns completely towards Harry’s direction, then, a curious expression crossing his face – he doesn’t look embarrassed in the slightest. He crosses his arms over his chest and takes a few steps closer.

“Sounded like you were having a good time,” Harry replies with clipped words, hand pressing against KitKat’s fur, keeping his expression cool and collected. He knows that they’ve barely spoken to each other, that they don’t even know each other, but did Zayn have to bring someone back his first night in the apartment? Did he really have to? 

_Really now._

“Oh, right,” Zayn laughs then, shaking his head slightly as he reaches up to run a hand through his hair. “Didn’t realize we were so loud. Sorry bout that, mate,” he gives a little shrug that sort of makes Harry want to punch him.

Instead, Harry sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, eyebrows shooting up a bit as he makes a face. “Riiight,” he drawls out, but it doesn’t sound in the least bit friendly. He isn’t entirely sure why he’s acting like this, really, because they’re all adults here and they can all bloody fuck whoever they’d like, but Harry feels some sort of ownership over the apartment, because he was here first and this guy _has just moved in_ and he’s just already getting on Harry's nerves.

Zayn stares at Harry silently for a moment before giving a slight nod, and Harry doesn’t really know why the guy is nodding, but then just as quickly as he had entered, Zayn turns on his heel and slowly leaves, heading back down the hallway until Harry hears the soft closing of his bedroom door. 

Harry sighs over-dramatically, laying his head back on the couch and thinking how annoying it is that Zayn didn’t turn off the kitchen light.

~

 

Maybe it’s that Harry doesn't usually find a reason to dislike someone.

That’s what Liam tells him, at least, the next day as they’re standing in line at the Starbucks below their flat. 

He wants to like Zayn, he really does. He doesn’t know what it is exactly about the young man that ticks him off so much, but it’s _something_ First impressions are a big thing for Harry Styles, so maybe it’s the fact that Zayn seems like one of those guys, the one-night-stand-type-of-guys, and Harry hates that sort of thing. He hates it a lot, knows it’s typical of guys his age – but something about having to live with it is just, annoying to him.

“He thinks you’re uptight,” Liam says with a worried tone, eyes never leaving Harry's face.

“He told you that? When?” Harry asks incredulously, eyes flashing at Liam as they move up a bit in line. “Well, maybe I am uptight,” he replies flatly then, hands stuffed in the pockets of his peacoat and he gives Liam a look.

“You are not _uptight_ , or mean, or anything negative,” Liam argues back, shaking his head as if it’s the most un-true thing he’s ever heard. “You brought me water and Advil as soon as I woke up this morning, Haz. You're thoughtful.”

Harry sighs and shakes his head back, knowing that Liam isn’t understanding. “Well of course I’m not uptight or mean around _you_ , I love _you_. But I don’t care what he thinks of me, I already don’t really like him… ooh, those scones look good, don’t they? Might have to get one of those,” Harry hums in appreciation at the sight of the food display, attempting to stand even _taller_ to get a better viewer, before promptly giving up and slouching back down. “Is he always like that, by the way? Bringing people back to his apartment like that?”

“Those scones do look good… “ Liam gets distracted once more, and huffs when a few move out of the way and Harry is suddenly able to peer above the people in front of them to get a good look at the food – one of the many perks of being taller than his friend. “He’s a nice guy,” Liam pouts a bit then, running a hand through his hair with an exasperated look. “I wouldn’t have asked him to live with us if he wasn’t! I mean, sure, he sort of likes to have sex a lot, but just give him a chance! He told me that he thinks you hate him already,” Liam's gaze flickers briefly as they get closer, eyes scanning over the menu. “Also, did another creeper hit on you the other night at the club?” he questions, still a bit distracted. “Niall was saying something about it…” Liam turns to give Harry his usual worried expression.

Harry rolls his eyes fondly and looks to the menu as well. “I don’t know why he’s already talking to you about me, I mean I just met the guy last night, and his first night in the apartment he brings someone back, I should be complaining to _you_ about _him_ ,” he responds, avoiding the last part of what Liam had said. “I heard them moaning, Li. _Moaning_.”

Liam visually winces at that. “He was drunk, Haz,” he sighs.

“Not that drunk, he came out into the kitchen afterwards and disturbed my peace with KitKat.”

“Harry,” Liam gives him a pleading look, knowing that Harry can never resist his pleading looks, reaching over to ruffle dark curls fondly. “Just give him a chance, okay? Please?”

“Okay, okay,” Harry gives in, leaning into the touch. “I’ll do my best, but I’m not making any promises,” he gives a mock-warning expression, before bursting into a small laugh.

But Harry Styles already knows that he highly dislikes Zayn Malik.


	2. Chapter 2

He’s only been there less than a week.

Yet somehow, somehow Harry still knows that he knows the boy well enough to utterly despise his very existence. At least, that’s what he tells himself as he stares into the bathroom mirror Thursday morning, and hears the knock on the bathroom door that sounds a little too impatient for his liking.

“Umph, m’sorta busy in here?” comes his reply through mouthful of toothbrush, as eyes flicker to the door’s reflection in the mirror, and he instinctively makes a face although he’s the only one that can see it. He knows it’s him, knows that it’s the new roommate, and knows that there is no way in hell he is giving up the bathroom that easily.

“Okay, I just have to piss really bad, mate,” comes the response from the hallway, and Harry nearly sputters up the toothpaste in his mouth.

Because, really? _Really?_

He wants to reply with something snappy, like how he’s lived here for the past two fucking years, how this is his apartment really, and how Zayn can piss himself in the hallway for all that Harry cares, because _really?_

But, as he looks to his bleak expression reflecting back in the mirror, he remembers what Liam said to him. He remembers his best friend’s pleading look, practically begging for Harry to try and like Zayn, wanting them to all just be the three best friends that they ever did have. Wanting them to all get along and live together in complete happiness and sing drunken songs together every Friday night and watch movies together and joke around like best friends do and all that stuff.

Fat chance.

But who does Zayn Malik think he is, really? He already acts like he’s lived here as long as both Harry and Liam have, already sprawls across _Harry’s_ couch like it belongs to him, arms tucked behind his head casually, shoes still on. And the day before, the day before Harry had strode into the kitchen only to find that Zayn had left the milk out, left it sitting on the counter as if they had a bloody maid in the place. 

And really, overall, Harry is just _annoyed._

So, instead of giving back some snippy comment, Harry decides to ignore him – for a few moments at least, as he finishes up. He turns on the faucet and spits into the sink, before stuffing his toothbrush back into the little toothbrush cup, and then he’s splashing cold water onto his face. Harry shivers slightly, because he isn’t wearing a shirt – is only clad in his usual jeans, and plans on just grabbing a t-shirt on his way out the door because work at the soap & fragrance store really doesn’t require anything _fancy._

That’s what his life has come to, he thinks. Not having to dress up because he’s working at the soap store.

He grabs the nearest washcloth, patting his face dry quickly, curls still pushed back out of his eyes. Harry hears shuffling outside of the door, knows that Zayn is still there; and he almost wants to laugh, really, because he knows that the other boy is probably getting really impatient, probably starting to hate Harry as much as Harry has already grown to hate him. 

And it’s all sort of infuriatingly funny.

Humming, Harry looks to himself in the mirror – he looks alright, he figures. He’s never cared much for his own appearance, though. Reaching up to run his hand through his own disheveled curls, he lets it fall in its usual fashion, too lazy to even bother with messing with it for the day. It’s only work, anyway. The only action he ever gets in the soap store is old ladies accidently bumping into him as they’re knocking over the display towers of little tubes of foot cream.

With a little sigh Harry finally turns, then, to reach for the door handle. He’d liked to drag the whole thing out a little bit longer, he really would, but if he does he’ll be late to work and be forced to deal with the wrath of a particular blonde Irishman. He pulls it open and is met with Zayn Malik, his new roommate, who is leaning against the wall, looking every bit of the tattooed bad boy that he is with another one of those blank looks on his face. 

So Harry steps out, giving him a once over because he can’t really help it – it’s hard to hide his annoyance for the guy. But Zayn makes no attempt to move, and then Harry doesn’t know what is happening, really – he had intended on throwing open the door and throwing out some snarky comment, but Zayn is just… _looking_ at him, in sort of a strange way, a look that Harry can’t even quite place. It’s curious and confusing, and Harry suddenly feels sort of awkward, a feeling that hates getting. So he makes another little humming noise, scrunching up his nose slightly before gesturing behind him. “All yours,” he says shortly, giving Zayn an inquisitive look before he’s making his way away from him and down the hallway.

Harry swears he can feel those eyes on his back the entire way to the kitchen.

~

 

“But, orange. Orange is what I want.”

“Well, citrus is… orange is included in citrus, right? I mean, an orange is a citrus and all. So if you just get the citrus and clove, I’m sure you’ll be plenty happy with it,” he offers a forced grin, hand settling on his hip as he looks between the woman and the table full of delicately wrapped soap bars.

He spends the next twenty minutes attempting to convince the persistent woman that citrus-clove soap is the closest thing to orange soap that they’ve got in the entire store, and eventually the woman finally gives in, leaving with a bag full of said citrus-clove soap.

Harry wants to slap himself in the face. 

“Look at you, being such a salesman and… stuff,” Niall wiggles his eyebrows from across the shop as he re-stocks a shelf of oil fragrance, and Harry gives him a look before turning to pick up the closest soap ball, promptly hurling it across the store where it falls at Niall’s feet. 

“Oi, hey now!” Niall laughs, bringing his arms up in a mock-surrender stance as he drops to pick up the fallen soap. “ _Someone’s_ testy today.”

“Aren’t I always?” Harry responds with a teasing flair, laughing as he walks over to the back counter. He would hate working in the soap store a little more if Niall weren’t there, so he’s thankful that his friend makes things even slightly bearable.  
As Harry approaches the counter he brushes hair from his forehead, knowing that he should be stocking things alongside Niall, or at least checking on all of the displays and making sure that everything is in place. Instead, he fiddles with the little boxes of mints by the register, briefly wondering why they even sell mints in the first place, considering it’s a _soap_ store. He also wonders why he even works here, why he still works in the local mall, although he knows the answer – knows that he needs to get through paying for his last year of school, knows that soon, so soon he can quit this mall job and finally, hopefully move on to something more… _real._

Because, everything in Harry’s life seems to be moving so slow. Sure, he has great friends; he has a pretty nice place to live, right downtown by the university, among the hustle and bustle of the city. He has a family back home that loves him, who he misses a lot but knows that he needed to get out of there, needed to move into a bigger place and do something _more_ with his life. And he wants to do something more, he really does – wants it more than anything, feels it like a burning passion in his chest. But it’s just so… hard. He wants so badly to have a career that he loves, something that fulfills him and makes him feel passionate, something that he enjoys doing every day. 

He figures that he’s happy, sort of. He’s got most things that he needs, but still… Still, Harry can’t shake that feeling that something is missing. Something has been missing for awhile, something that he can’t quite put a finger on. But he just knows that it’s _something,_ and without it, whatever it is, he feels sort of stuck in a rut. And he feels like he’s reminded of it every day, every day that he walks into the mall and works at the little soap store and goes back to his apartment and ends up crawling up into and falling asleep in his lonely, cold bed.

“Haz?” Niall’s voice snaps him back into reality, and Harry shakes his head as he looks to the ground, as if trying to shake away all of the thoughts that bother him so much, wanting to rid himself of them as he always does. “You alright?” Niall has that tone in his voice again, the tone he’s had more and more often lately, and it nearly makes Harry cringe. He knows that his friends are starting to wonder what’s going on with him – he knows they’ve noticed this mood that he’s been in for awhile, but the last thing, _the very last thing_ that Harry wants is for people to feel _sorry_ for him. Or to worry.

“Yeees, are _you_ alright?” Harry instantly shoots back playfully, gaze lifting as he strides across the shop with his arms across his chest. Niall rolls his eyes and Harry expected that, is glad that the small tense moment is gone already, because he likes it much, much better when he’s on the usual-playful terms with his friends.

“You’re ridiculous,” Niall replies, and Harry reaches over to affectionately whack his shoulder with the nearest loofa, grinning cheekily all the while, once again using his best attempt to mask whatever this is that he’s really feeling inside, whatever it is that’s constantly gnawing at him. 

“I know.”

~

The lights surrounding them are seizure-inducing, surely.

He’s leaning back against the bar again, his usual place. Harry always ends up there, for some reason. Probably because he’s usually not drunk enough to dance with random strangers – and he’s never been one for random hookups, never really even wanted to just dance with random people. He doesn’t really know why, but it’s just never appealed to him. He guesses he’s a romantic at heart, or something like that. 

Yeah, some sort of bullshit like that. 

Harry sort of wants to get swept off his feet, like people do in those romantic, sappy movies. But Harry also sort of knows that that’s never going to happen.

Especially not here, at least; he taps the side of his glass as he does the usual, watching his friends out on the dance floor with whoever they’ve just met for the night, and a small part of him sort of wishes he could be like that. Wishes he could just make-out with the hottest person he meets that night, wishes that he could just let loose and give it all up. 

But that’s only a small part of him.

Liam, Niall, and Zayn are all out there, but they’re not dancing quite yet; instead they’re off to the side a bit, happily drunk it seems, laughing and flirting with a group of pretty girls. Liam’s also brought along his friend this time – Nick, Harry thinks his name is – but his friend looks rather bored with the girls, and is instead alternating between tugging at Liam’s arm and looking around the club while making strange faces.

Harry sighs.

He should be over there, he tells himself, but for some reason he can’t bring himself to move from where he’s currently perched against the counter. So instead he lifts his glass and takes a slow, long drink, letting his gaze settle on the ground in front of him as the music shifts to a sexual, electronic song that suddenly has the bodies on the dance floor slithering together, and Harry can’t help but think they look like a bunch of weirdly sexual snakes.

And, just like clockwork, it happens for the umpteenth time.

Harry always seems to feel their presence before they talk to him, dark and luminous all at the same time, a heavy weight beside him. But he’s feeling extra cheeky tonight, and with the tilt of his head he turns to face the man who’s approached him; he’s overweight and looks older, like they always do. Harry is starting to wonder what the hell is wrong with him, and why the fuck he keeps attracting people like this, what sort of thing he’s doing that sends such a wrong message. 

“Look at you, standing over here with nothing to do,” the man drawls out, raising his eyebrows in such a way that makes Harry feel like throwing up in his mouth a little.

The thing is, he isn’t even dressed that hot tonight. Sure, he’s in jeans, and all of his jeans are a little tight, but he’s just wearing a t-shirt and… ugh. Why. Why does this always happen.

“Look at you, hitting on someone much too young for you,” he shoots back, taking another drink and trying his best to look away, but then it’s hard because the man comes closer, and then suddenly he’s putting a hand on Harry’s hip.

“Feisty, too,” the man murmurs with an obscene lick of his lips, and then he’s leaning into the shell of Harry’s ear, “I like ‘em like that.”

Harry’s shoulders scrunch up at the combination of the words, the hand on his hip and the hot breath against his ear. He turns to meet the man’s eyes, finds that he’s much closer now and attempts to slide farther along down the edge of the bar, but the man’s hand is tight on his hip and the music is so loud and it’s all just starting to feel uncomfortable.

He whips his head up then, his free hand coming up to push at the man’s shoulder, eyes blazing. He isn’t just some kid who can be pushed around like this, and it’s just all so fucking annoying, as annoying as it is every single time. “Get off me,” he seethes with a downturned lip, once again trying to wrench himself out of the man’s grip.

The man makes a strange noise before pressing more of his weight in, and Louis nearly stumbles, falling a bit against the edge of the counter as his brow furrows and his teeth bite down harshly into his bottom lip, hand curling up into a fist at the man’s shoulder to steady himself. 

“I’d like to fuck that nice arse of yours,” the man licks his lips again, leaning over Harry to look behind him and down at the curve of his bottom, and Harry whines low in his throat, hating this, hating every second of it and hating himself for even coming to the club in the first place, because he never enjoys it and this shit always happens.

“Yeah, I’d like to fuck it, bet you’d take it real good too, wouldn’t you? You look like a proper slut in those jeans, you’re just fuckin’ askin’ for it,” the man’s hand is sliding around to his bum now, copping a feel but now he’s loosened his grip enough for Harry to be able to stumble off to the side, a few steps away from him, still sort of not knowing what to do as he suddenly feels gross and violated.

“What’s going on here?”

Harry’s head jolts up, free hand falling limp to his side as he sees none other than Zayn, mysterious Zayn standing there with a look on his face that’s anything but pleasant.

“I…” Harry begins to speak, but his mouth falls open and he doesn’t really know what to say, just wants nothing more than to get out of there, to go home and curl up with KitKat and sleep.

“What, this your boyfriend?” the older man laughs loudly then, and then he’s coming towards Harry once more, and before Harry can get away the man is wrapping an arm around his waist and yanking him closer. 

Harry makes a noise of protest, attempting to push him off again but the man moves like he’s trying to dance on him, and Harry is really no match for his amount of weight, it’s too much and too heavy and he just can’t.

“Get the fuck off of him.”

It comes out in a voice that’s almost scary, low and hoarse and unrecognizable to him; and it causes Harry to look up, and he meets dark eyes that are boring into him and fucking _flaming_ , and Harry hasn’t seen this much emotion in Zayn for the entire week that he’s known him put together.

The rest of it is sort of a blur.

Harry remembers strong hands tugging him out and away from the man, he remembers the man’s calls of protest from behind them, something about his arse and some other sort of obscene things, but all the while he’s being taken out of the club, and before he knows it the cool air is surrounding him and the stars are impossibly bright above in the nighttime sky.

They’re standing together, then, outside, and Zayn is looking at him with an expression that Harry can’t quite place again – and he thinks how he doesn’t even really know the guy at all – has only been around him for a week, and yet feels all the rage in the world towards him. So Zayn thinks he can just waltz on up and save the fucking day, well hallelujah to him, but that’s not how Harry’s mind wants to work.

“What the hell was that?” Harry finally demands, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, hair mussed and eyes wild.

A look of confusion crosses Zayn’s face, eyebrows knitted together and Harry takes in the sight of him. He looks good, he’s gotta admit, but it’s not like Harry even cares. Zayn’s wearing a shirt that has the top few buttons undone, chest exposed a bit and his hair is up in some sort of quiff style that Harry is beginning to notice he likes to style it into. His tattoos show up along his arms, and he’s definitely got that rebel-look to him, in a sexy way that Harry is sure has the girls eating right out of the palm of his hand.

For some reason, that mere fact makes Harry dislike him even more.

“What do you mean, ‘what the hell was that’?” Zayn has a look that’s a cross between confusion and anger, and Harry isn’t really sure of which there is more of. His mouth is hanging open and his dark eyebrows are still knitted together in such a way that makes Harry just that much more annoyed.

“That… that fucking rescue, or whatever it is you wanna call it!” Harry sputters, gesturing back towards the club before making a huff of annoyance. He knows that maybe, just maybe he’s being ridiculous – that maybe Zayn was trying to be helpful, but for some reason he keeps going, keeps pushing and he’s not even exactly sure why, but maybe it’s some sort of pride thing, maybe it’s that he just seemed weak in front of Zayn, like he couldn’t even take care of himself. And Harry hates that. “God, I don’t need to be rescued, I can handle things for myself!” he continues, voice raising in level.

“Are you being serious right now?” Zayn questions, stepping closer and shaking his head as he scoffs loudly, and this is the first time that Harry has seen this side of his personality. “That fuckin’ disgusting old man was all over you, and I wasn’t bout to let that just happen. Sorry for being nice.”

And oh, god, this just makes Harry nearly lose it. Because how dare Zayn act like… like this, all of a sudden, and it only makes Harry hate him even more, although he told Liam, promised Liam that he would try to like the boy.

“I didn’t need it! Jesus, I’m not some damsel in distress, okay? I could have handled that situation perfectly fine all on my own, I don’t need you stepping in, got it? You don’t even know me,” Harry snaps loudly, realizing that maybe he’s making some sort of scene, and he just really, really wants to get out of there now. “I’m going home,” he suddenly states, and then he’s looking around to haul down a cab, because he’s sure as fuck not driving back with this moronic roommate of his.

“What does this have to do with knowing you…” Harry hears Zayn mumbling behind him, but he trails off his sentence and Harry doesn’t even want to respond, but he turns on his heel to look at Zayn once more because he needs to be the one to have the last word, always does. 

“Just go back inside and find your fresh piece for the night, and let me be, alright? I’m fine, good job, you saved me, good for-fucking-you,” and then before Zayn can say anything, Harry is stalking down the sidewalk, but as he walks, instead of anger all he really feels is a whole lot of sadness and embarrassment. 

~


End file.
